Written and directed by Hal Hartley

Starring: Parker Posey, Liam Aiken, James Urbaniak and Jeff Goldblum

118 min.

Fay Grim feels like a spoof on espionage films made by a man who never saw one.

Ten years after Henry Fool, Hal Hartley directs an official sequel.

Do you need to see Henry Fool before stepping into Fay Grim?

Given the amount of exposition and backstory, it’s safe to say that Fay Grim can stand on its own. But that is part of the film’s problem – an overabundance of plot.

After living with Henry (Thomas Jay Ryan) for seven years, all Fay (Parker Posey) has to show for it is her teenage son, Ned (Liam Aiken). Not wanting Ned to turn out like “garbage man poet”/jailbird Henry, Fay is alarmed when her son brings a mysterious porno device (that arrived anonymously in the mail) to school.

The peepshow box was sent by dad, and somewhere amid the hedonistic behavior lay encoded messages. Almost simultaneously, both a publisher and CIA agent (Jeff Goldblum) suddenly show interest in Henry’s writings.

The reason for the renewed curiosity has something to do with Henry posing a threat to the safety of America. In no time, Fay is talked into traveling to Paris in search of two of Henry’s notebooks.

What’s with all the canted angles? Ninety percent of the shots are slanted, alternating right and left with each cut. Add a few “BIFFS” and “POWS,” and it would look like an episode of the old “Batman” series.

Most sequels simply reshuffle what worked in the original. While Hartley avoided the obvious, his characters from Henry Fool are out of place in a world steeped in international espionage and intrigue.

The film is not without occasional flashes of deadpan humor, and the cast, particularly Posey and Goldblum, delivers the goods. Whether or not I wanted to sign for this package remains unclear.

Like Faraway, So Close, Wim Wenders’ disappointing sequel to his masterful Wings of Desire, Hartley relies on genre parody to advance the story. Instead of taking his characters on a new adventure and possibly watching them expand and grow, Hartley appears content just piling on the plot and cocking his camera.

Rating:

Directed by Jag Mundhra

Written by Carl Austin and Rahila Gupta

Starring: Aishwarya Rai, Miranda Richardson and Naveen Andrews

111 min.

Initially it was a shock to the system – 27 films to Jag Mundhra’s credit and I hadn’t seen a one. Where did he go wrong?

Several titles (Last Call, Tropical Heat, L.A. Goddess) rang a distant bell. They were regular entries in Cinemax’s late night “Skinemax” lineup of tit movies geared for college boys and shut-out married men.

A soft-core pornographer tackles the issue of spousal abuse. This I had to see.

Bollywood superstar Aishwarya Rai stars as Kiranjit Ahluwalia, a docile Punjabi housewife married to an O.J. played by “Lost” hunk Naveen Andrews. After 10 years of being trapped in an arranged marriage fraught with violent abuse, Kiranjit pulls a Farrah and torches her husband while he sleeps.

Not wanting to publicly replay her torture, the meek Kiranjit refuses to take the stand at her trial. Her mother-in-law, witness to the violence, will not testify on behalf of “the bitch who killed my son.” The young arresting officer, who could accurately describe the victim’s emotional state at the time of the crime, is bullied by a superior eager to put an end to the proceedings. The rookie chooses his career over the truth, and Kiranjit gets 12 years in the slammer.

Credit Jag with resisting his instincts to film a hot, steamy, behind-bars sex scene. It’s the only prison cliché he overlooks. Kiranjit is befriended by Veronica (Miranda Richardson), her very own prison bitch, who protects her from a menacing bulldyke eager to steal the dessert from the doe-eyed innocent’s dinner tray.

Prison life agrees with Kiranjit. Veronica braids her cellmate’s hair, comforts her when she’s blue and helps improve her English by playing Scrabble. Veronica informs Kiranjit that she misspelled “shoulder.” Realizing her mistake, Kiranjit says, “I need ‘u.’” “Yes,” purrs Veronica, “You need me.” Now that’s quality dialogue!

Radha (Nandita Das) is a victims’-rights worker who spearheads Kiranjit’s defense. A cloyingly perky amateur, Ms. Das lacks the depth and range to convince us that she’s anything but pretty. She’s the vacuous type Mundrah generally casts – only this time, out of respect for the subject matter, the actress is allowed to keep her clothes on.

The filmmakers haven’t a clue when it comes to using sadism as a means of sending out an anti-violence message. Flashbacks mean only one thing: another graphic example of Kiranjit getting raped, attacked and/or verbally humiliated by her husband. Not since Death Wish have audiences witnessed such graphic abuse, and detailing scene after scene of a woman being pummeled is as offensive as it is gratuitous.

In light of the heavy subject matter, the rest of the film plays out in a wholesome, painfully genteel manner. Just what we need: a good-natured film about domestic violence.

Fortunately for all of us, Mr. Mundhra will follow Provoked with a quick return to his roots. His next assignment is Kama Sutra 3: The Love Potion, coming soon to a dusty video store shelf near you.

Rating: m

Directed by Jesse Peretz

Written by David Guion and Michael Handelman

Starring: Zach Braff, Amanda Peet, Jason Bateman and Charles Grodin

89 min.

When asked his thoughts on professional sports, Martin Scorsese said something to the effect that, “anything with a ball is bad.”

Scorsese is right, of course. Sports and cinema don’t mix; they’re two different mindsets. Except when it comes to the ever-expanding awards season, movies don’t, and shouldn’t, compete, and true film lovers hate the Oscars almost as much as they abhor sports.

A few years ago, news arrived that some guy who owned a basketball team was buying the Landmark Theatre chain. So far, so good. It doesn’t appear as though his sports mentality clothesline any of his bookers.

If the film’s Mark Cuban finances don’t directly deal with the medium (Good Night and Good Luck), they feel like escapees from the small screen (Akeelah and the Bee, Diggers). What he’s bankrolling for the multiplex set is another story. The Ex is four, 22-minute pilot episodes for a sitcom that will never air.

Zach Braff sure is cute and deserves much better than this. Having never seen an episode of “Scrubs,” I came to know Mr. Braff through two features. The Ex is marginally less insulting than The Last Kiss and nowhere near as strong as the charming Garden State, which he also directed.

Tom Reilly (Braff) is your typical lost boy who’s newly married and starting a family. Living in the shadow of his wife, Sofia (Amanda Peet), a successful lawyer, Tom ekes out a living as a chef in an upscale New York eatery.

Tom has a “bad attitude,” and a confrontation with his arrogant boss (Paul Rudd doing a quick in-and-out), followed by a food fight, leaves him unemployed. With the expense of a new baby looming large, Paul agrees to finally face his duty-bound role as family bread-winner by accepting an assistant associate creative position for his father-in-law’s shiny, happy company in Ohio.

Seeing Charles Grodin return to the screen was a thrill quickly trampled. As Sofia’s persnickety dad, this tightly wound comedic powerhouse is given little to work with. And wait until you see how Mia Farrow is forced to pick up a paycheck. She left her home orphanage long enough to resurrect the nasal Radio Days dumb blonde for a couple of quick reaction shots.

Tom will be trained by Chip (TV actor Jason Bateman) who just happens to be both wheelchair bound and Sofia’s ex-high school flame. There is a great story waiting to be told about a charlatan that affects a disability in order to evoke sympathy, or even worse. The Ex is not that movie.

Whatever thoughts the first-time screenwriters had about making this a pitch-black adult comedy were quickly lost amid a sea of penis jokes and TV setups. It should be illegal to charge admission for what networks beam into our living rooms free of charge.

Rating: m